Out of the Bag
by Slayergirl
Summary: There are always consequences when you let the cat out of the bag. The question is though, are they good or bad? One-shot piece of unashamed fluff from Nikki's POV, and the rating is probably way over the top. Please R&R if you enjoy. Non season-specific.


**A/N: Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's reviewed the fics I've put up this week (and in the past); some of your comments have been so kind, and really blew me away. This short-but-sweet bit of fluff is a Friday afternoon gift to you all - I hope you enjoy it!**

**Out of the Bag**

You close your eyes in horrified disbelief at what you've just said. What made you think that this was the right time, when it hasn't been for six years? He's staring at you, now, a look of shock on his face which would be so utterly comical if this hadn't meant so much to you. You don't stop to hear his response, but turn and run, driving off home before he can say anything that'll hurt.

You ignore your mobile, because you know without looking it's him. You ignore the first couple of rings on your house phone assuming the same, but then wonder if it's Leo, with something to do with work, and pick up. "Alexander," you say listlessly.

There's a warm, familiar chuckle at the other end of the line, and you nearly hang up on him. "Alexander? No, sorry, no Alexander here. Definitely not an Alexander. Nope, sorry to disappoint you, Niks, but it's definitely Harry, not Alexander."

You can't stop your lips unwillingly quirk into a smile. "What is it?"

"You didn't wait for a response."

"Figured I didn't want to hear it. Look, I'm sorry, I was being an idiot, forget I ever said anything, I –"

"Shut up and let me talk, woman!" he says, and you're surprised at how cheerful he sounds. "I'm sitting in my car outside your house –"

"Stalker."

"Shut up and let me finish. I have wine. You have a sofa. We need to talk. Now, are you going to let me in, or slam the door in my face?"

You sigh. "I suppose we do need to talk. Come in."

You go to the door and open it, and your eyes widen slightly. Harry's brought more than wine; he's brought a takeaway, too. "Thought you might be hungry," he says with a shrug, seeing you eye up the carrier bag. "And I figured you probably wouldn't have eaten yet."

_Because I know you're too upset_, you know that's the subtext, but you don't comment. You blush as your stomach growls; you're hungrier than you realised, and glance at your watch. "I didn't realise it was that late."

"No. I figured," he says softly, and you know he knows you've been curled up crying on the sofa all that time he's been trying to get hold of you. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

He knows his way round your kitchen so well that he doesn't need to ask where the plates and cutlery are, and plucks out a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard, opening up the bottle of red wine and pouring a healthy amount into each glass. You notice it's a South African wine, and you're touched. You also realise it's an _expensive_ South African wine, and that the takeaway cartons contain some of the pricier dishes that you both love. You wonder if this is him being kind before giving you a brush-off, and fight to keep the tears down. "Harry…"

He pushes and prods you towards the sofa, and you take your food and wine with you. "Eat first, talk later," he insists.

You're worried about this, but comply, because you're not sure what to say, in any case. You said your piece earlier, anyway. "Good wine," you say, more because it's something to say than anything.

"Mm. I remembered you saying you liked South African pinotage."

You're surprised he remembered, and frown a little, but let it pass. Eventually, you've both finished eating, and Harry re-fills your glasses. You know you can't put off the moment much longer. "So…" you begin, and then halt, because you don't know how to go on.

"So," he agrees. "Six years?"

You roll your eyes. He's never going to let this go, is he? "Six years," you confirm, voice steady.

Surprisingly, he simply nods. "Yeah. Been about the same for me, too."

"Sorry?" You're sure you must be hearing things. Did Harry just say he… but that means he… all this time? "You mean…?"

His eyes are twinkling over the rim of his wineglass. "Yeah. Good to know one of us had the guts to say it finally. And I suppose it's really no surprise it's you."

You scoff a little at the back-handed compliment. "So…"

"So, where do we go from here?"

You gulp nervously. "Where do you want this to go?"

He's positively grinning, now. "I asked first."

"Bastard."

"Tart."

You're both laughing now. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead," you admit. "I got about as far as telling you, and then assumed…"

"…Entirely the wrong thing," he finishes, setting down his wineglass. "Oh, come here, you daft mare."

You giggle, and curl up into his side, and you sit there cosily sipping your wine for a while. You nestle a little closer as you come to the end of your glasses. "I have more wine," you offer hesitantly, because you're worried that no more wine might be followed by Harry leaving, and you don't want him to go yet, with things still unresolved between you.

He shakes his head. "Thanks, but I'm driving. I'll make us some coffee in a bit."

You give a sigh of relief, because that means he's not about to leave, and snuggle back down again, enjoying the feel of him playing with your hair. "'S nice," you murmur, smiling.

He chuckles, and you can feel the vibrations humming through you. "Good." Then he kisses you, softly, gently, slowly, and draws back. "Still nice?"

You smile. "More than nice."

You never do get your coffee.


End file.
